


Can You Feel My Heart

by PerkyMetalhead



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Person of Interest (TV) RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, F/F, Massage, Sarah's alarm is I Kissed a GIrl, Sexual Tension, a lot of making out, fun at bars, seemingly unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerkyMetalhead/pseuds/PerkyMetalhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy's falling for Sarah and it's killing her. It doesn't help when she gets injured on set and Sarah insists on giving her a massage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall! This is my first time ever writing RPF. I know this is questionable territory for a lot of people, so if the idea of Shacker RPF bothers you, 1) I don't know how you ended up here, and 2) go ahead and close the window. 
> 
> No disrespect whatsoever intended towards Amy, Sarah, or their families. You can assume their spouses and children are nonexistent in this world, although James is mentioned a couple times as an ex. 
> 
> Also -- I don't know much about massage, so take Sarah's technique with a grain of salt. Everything is made up for the purposes of this fic.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!
> 
> (Title is taken from 'Can You Feel My Heart' by Bring Me the Horizon because I'm currently listening to it and don't have a better title.)

Sarah Shahi is going to be the death of you.

You don’t know when it started, not exactly. There wasn’t an “a-ha” moment, no definitive experience that made you think, “maybe your constant admiration of Sarah isn’t just a friendship thing, maybe you’re not so straight after all.”

You don’t realize you’re falling for her because you’re not always self-aware when it comes to your own emotions. And also because it doesn’t matter, because Sarah is hot and free-spirited and is definitely not interested in you.

It doesn’t dawn on you until you notice how you change in her presence. You catch a scent of her hair during round-table readings and gulp self-consciously; you hang around until shooting ends instead of leaving after your last scene is up, hoping Sarah or Jim or Michael will suggest you all go out for drinks later; she touches your arm during filming and you forget for a second that she’s touching Root, not you. 

Sometimes, you’re weak and just let yourself be Root.

At the beginning, it isn’t hard. It’s been almost eight months since you and James have separated (amicably, of course -- you still grab coffee twice a month) and it’s almost relieving to feel the pull of attraction to someone new. You’re turning over a new leaf of your life, and Sarah is the breath of fresh air you didn’t know you’re craving. She’s the one pulling you to do tequila shots and let loose more than you have since before you were married; she drags you to the gym with her and helps you get over your fear of weight machines; she lets you stay in her trailer late into the evening and tells you stories of her childhood, of her travels, of things that make you question your world views.

You’d even go as far as to call it fun. Your attraction to her helps fuel your scenes, and critics praise your portrayal as Root -- so flirtatious and sultry and alive. 

Maybe you’re so good at playing her because a part of you is her.

But as the days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, it stops being nice and just becomes tiring. Somewhere along this path, it’s stopped being a harmless girl crush and turned into something more. It hurts now every time Sarah tells you about a drunken hook-up at a bar, or flirts with someone that isn’t you, and it hurts even more when Sarah brings over random guys and tries to set them up with you. You know she’s doing it because she cares; she sees you’re sad and assumes you’re still hung up on James. You don’t deny it. It’s better Sarah thinks you’re stuck on him instead of her.

You’ve grown distracted at work, too. Normally, you wouldn’t let yourself slip like this -- you believe your professionalism is one of your greatest qualities, and you never give any job less than 100% effort -- but your portrayal of Root is still rock solid. Your eyes always seem to drift over towards Sarah, but that’s what Root would do, so what’s the problem?

Well, the problem occurs when you’re so busy staring at Sarah’s jawline from across the road that you miss your cue to turn and are thrown off of the motorcycle and onto the pavement below.

Sarah is above you in an instant, her hands clutching your shoulders and her ponytail tickling your cheek. “Holy fuck, Amy, are you okay?” 

You sit up, more embarrassed than anything, and shake yourself off. You pulled a muscle in your back pretty bad, but nothing feels broken, and your leather jacket protected you from the pavement pretty well.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say sheepishly. Sarah’s eyes are still filled with concern, but she sits back, her hand remaining protectively on your shoulder. 

The crew rushes over to you to make sure you’re alright, and they decided filming is done for the day and you’ll continue with the scene tomorrow. You pick yourself up and say a quick goodbye, making your way back to your trailer, but Sarah doesn’t leave you alone.

She never does.

“Hey Ames, slow down,” she calls, catching your elbow with her hand. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital or anything?”

“I’m fine, Sarah, I promise,” you emphasize, just wanting to get away from Sarah and her damn concerned eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Sarah nods, reading your general state of unhappiness like an open book. “Okay, well... Do you need anything? Wine? A hot bath? Are you sure you aren’t hurt anywhere?”

“I didn’t fall hard, I just pulled a muscle in my back is all,” you assure her with a shrug. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Okay, well let’s get you back to your trailer and I’ll work on your back,” Sarah says, walking alongside her.

“Oh Sarah, you don’t need to waste your time-”

“No, no, I insist,” Sarah interrupts. “C’mon, it’ll be nice to refresh my memory on all that physiology and massage shit I learned in college.”

You stare at her for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, you know this’ll just hurt you in the end -- anything physical with Sarah does, it seems. But on the other hand... 

“Okay,” you say, the words coming out of your mouth without your brain’s approval. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Sarah smiles at you, warm and genuine and a little surprised. You realize Sarah was expecting you to say no and keep pushing her away, and you feel bad for a moment. The two of you had become such close friends, and you were ruining that with your damn hormones.

You pop open the door to your trailer and lead her inside, flipping on the light. She drops her bag down in the corner and takes off her jacket. “Want some wine?” you offer, because apparently you’re just full of bad ideas today.

“Sure,” she says, and you busy yourself with pulling out your travel-sized wine glasses and the bottle from your fridge. You hand her a glass and clutch the other with a death grip, hoping the alcohol does a little to ease your nerves.

It doesn’t.

“Hey, Amy,” she starts, sitting down tentatively on the chair. “Are you... Are you okay?”

You look down into your wine glass, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. I told you, I just wrenched a muscle, that’s all.”

An awkward silence. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

With a sigh, you look up at her again. It’s so hard to lie to her, and sometimes, you wish she wasn’t so damn caring and would just leave you be. “I don’t know, Sarah. I really don’t.”

Sarah nods slowly, her eyes searching your face. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

More questions that are impossible to answer. So, you ask one of your own. “Do you ever just... Have these moments of confusion? A moment where you start to think you don’t know yourself as well as you should?”

Sarah nods again, although you don’t know if she really does get it, or if she just wants you to keep talking. “I’m just... In one of those moments. And it’s exhausting.”

Sarah, bless her soul, walks over to you and pulls you into her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, stroking your back lightly. You can sense she still doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but at least you’re talking to her, and that’s all Sarah is asking for right now. “You know I’ll always have your back, right?” 

You nod into her hair, trying to ignore how good she smells. You let her hold you for a few seconds longer before pulling away. She gives you a sad smile.

“C’mon, let’s get that muscle loosened up. Take your shirt and bra off and lay face down on the bed, I’ll go warm up my hands. Do you have lotion or anything?”

“Yeah,” you say, your fingers shakily starting to undo the buttons on your shirt. “By the sink.”

“Okay,” she replies, moving towards the bathroom. “Sorry, I’ll need to pick up some shitty massage oil sometime. But lotion will do the trick in a pinch.”

She steps into the trailer bathroom and you finish removing your shirt, tossing that and your bra haphazardly onto the small couch. After a few moments of fiddling with your hands, you climb onto the bed, lying face down.

Footsteps approach a few seconds later, and you feel the bed dip beside you.

“Let me know if anything I do hurts, okay?” Sarah says. “It’s been awhile.” You feel her hands scoop up your hair and settle it to the side, leaving your back exposed. Instead of answering verbally, you just nod into the mattress, not trusting yourself to speak. The bed dips again, and you feel her straddle you lightly, her thighs on either side of your hips.

You hear the squirt of the lotion bottle, and then warm hands settle on your lower back, right above the waistband of your pants. Her movements are firm and smooth as she spreads the lotion around your back, using methodical upward movements. Her palms are rough and calloused, probably from her weight-lifting, and you squeeze your eyes shut. The wine has set in a little bit and is doing nothing to calm the electricity prickling across your skin. You’re thankful you’re on your stomach and Sarah can’t see your face.

“Hey, try to relax,” Sarah tells you softly, and you realize you’ve been subconsciously tensing your whole body. Willing your muscles to loosen, you try to release the tension you’re holding, and Sarah’s hands resume smooth strokes up the muscles of your back.

When the lotion is spread across your back and your muscles have been warmed up, she focuses on your lower back, her palms working small circles into the tension. It’s a little painful at first, but as Sarah works her hands into your body, the tightness starts to loosen. 

As Sarah eases up your lower back, you screw your eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to cry. You don’t know why, but something about the removal of physical tension makes the emotional tension want to leave you, too. 

“Relax,” Sarah whispers a second time, bringing one hand up to squeeze your shoulder comfortingly. Dammit, you tensed up again. You pull it together and try to sink into the mattress, burying your face further into the sheets.

Once your lower back is warmer and more pliant, Sarah’s hands travel upwards, pushing into the muscles below your shoulder blades. You hiss -- the muscle you pulled screams out in pain. 

“Ahh yeah, I feel that,” Sarah tells you, her fingers moving to the tight spot in your back. “I’m gonna dig my fingers in so the muscle loosens around it, okay? I’ll count to ten, just focus on relaxing and breathing.”

“Mhm,” you mumble in acknowledgment, and Sarah carefully pushes her fingers against the tight spot. You breathe in and out steadily as she begins to count.

“One.”

Sarah’s fingers hurt.

“Two.”

Sarah’s fingers hurt even more.

“Three.”

The pain is about the same.

“Four.”

Your muscle twitches.

“Five.”

It tingles a little.

“Six.”

You feel the tense spot start to loosen.

“Seven.”

Her fingertips are so damn warm.

“Eight.”

The spot keeps loosening. 

“Nine.”

Her ponytail is tickling your back lightly.

“Ten.”

You want her.

Sarah eases the pressure of her fingers, and you exhale shakily, your head swimming with emotions. She eases small circles into the area before stilling her movements.

“Did that help or hurt?” she asks, voice softer than it normally is. 

You wriggle a little, assessing how your back feels in comparison to half an hour ago. “Helped, I think.”

An approving noise comes out of Sarah, and you feel her hands pushing you against the bed again. “Glad to hear it.” She hears the squirt of lotion again, and then her hands are moving from your neck to your shoulders, fingers deftly massaging your upper back.

You’re trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s hard when everything is so... Sarah. The rhythm of her hands, the smell of her shampoo, the cadence of her breathing. You become acutely aware of her thighs a little tighter around your hips and you feel like you’re drowning. Not just in her touch, but in her essence -- in how much she cares about you, how she’s the one who notices you’ve been a little off these past couple months, how she’s the one you wish was beside you when you wake up in the middle of the night -- 

“I can’t,” you gasp, squirming beneath her and rolling so you’re face up. You pull the blanket with you, covering your chest, as your breathing quickens and your heartbeat races. Sarah is still above you, a bewildered expression on her face. Her hands stop midair, unsure of what to do.

Sarah stares down at you, shocked, and opens her mouth a couple times before finally forcing out words. “I’m... I’m sorry, Amy, did I hurt you?”

You gaze up at her, still clutching the blanket with one hand, before yanking her down with the other. Your fingers tangle with her shirt as you smash her lips into yours, and you kiss her, because you’re in pain and Sarah’s straddling you and you don’t know what the fuck else to do.

Sarah’s lips are motionless against yours, but after a few moments, you feel them open and kiss you back. Her hands fall to your head, gently cradling your face, and you admire the way your lips brush against each other’s, and the feeling of your nose pressing softly into her cheek. You faintly register that her thumbs are stroking your jaw and she’s humming a quiet moan into your mouth.

Your brain finally catches up to your body, and it hits you that you’re kissing Sarah and that’s a bad idea.

With a gasp, you push her chest away and release her shirt, the fabric crumpling where you grabbed it. Sarah looks dazed and confused, and you sit up, scooting yourself out from under her. 

“Sarah...” you start, but the words catch in your throat. The sassy, confident woman in front of you looks uncharacteristically dumbfounded for once, and you’re grateful, because the last thing you could handle hearing right now is a rejection.

“I gotta go,” you force out before she can speak, and you hop off the bed as fast as possible. You snatch your shirt up from where you left it on the couch and pull it on, not bothering to even grab your bra, and you storm out of your own trailer.

Tears burn your eyes as you speed-walk away, and you hear Sarah calling your name faintly in the distance -- but you keep walking. Because if you stop walking, your feelings are going to catch up to you and you can’t let them. You want to stay lost in your fantasy world where Sarah doesn’t know you like women, where your coworker doesn’t know you’re falling in love with her, where you can hide your feelings and not have to confront them ever. 

You keep walking because you’re pretty sure you just fucked up the most important friendship you’ve ever had. 

\--

You come back to your trailer an hour later, having exhausted yourself of tears and energy. It was your own fault for letting this happen, you see that now. But you are responsible for your own actions, and no matter how uncomfortable things are with Sarah tomorrow, this is your job and you’ll be professional. If Sarah doesn’t want to speak to you ever again, you’ll understand.

When you open up the door and get settled in your trailer again, you notice a piece of paper laying on your pillow. 

“Amy--

Leaving my trailer unlocked tonight in case you want to come over. 

If you think what you’re feeling is one-sided -- it’s not.

\--Sarah”

A wave of emotions -- relief, happiness, apprehension, excitement -- crashes through your body as you clutch the note in your shaking fingers. 

Maybe you didn’t fuck up so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few people have requested a continuation, so I'm turning this fic from a one-shot into a three or four chapter thing. Leave a comment with requests if you have any Shacker moments you'd like to see! I love prompts.

After approximately fifty re-reads of Sarah’s note, you finally put the piece of paper back on your pillow. It’s late and Sarah’s probably asleep, but... that was an invite to come over, right? You read the letter again. Yeah, that’s a definite invitation...

You get up from the bed suddenly, looking yourself over in the mirror. Truthfully, you look like shit. Your hair is a mess and your face is red and puffy from crying and you’re still a little sweaty from your formerly panicked state. You take the opportunity to strip off your clothing and rinse off in the shower -- keeping the water very, very cold. A few minutes later, you towel off in the bathroom and brush your teeth. You pick out your softest pair of flannel pajama bottoms and pull a light tank top over your body.

You’re out the door and halfway to Sarah’s trailer before you glance down and re-assess the situation. Were pajamas appropriate? What if Sarah was still awake and was simply inviting you over to talk it out? 

You’re scared if you go back and change into jeans, you’ll lose your nerve to leave your room again, so you close the distance between you and the other woman’s trailer. 

You knock on her door. (You’re pretty sure her letter was giving you permission to walk right in, but you’re awkward as hell, so.)

A few seconds pass by, and you waver between knocking again and walking away, but you hear Sarah call out, “It’s open.” Steadying your breath, you turn the handle and push open the door. 

As the door cracks open, you see Sarah reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes; you’re about to apologize for waking her, but she’s smiling at you like she’s happy you came.

“Hey you,” she says. “You gonna come in or what?”

It’s then that you realize you’re just standing in the doorway, and, kicking yourself mentally, you walk in and shut the door behind you.

“Hi,” you say softly in return. Sarah is scooting over in the bed and making space for you, so you come to the edge, slipping softly beneath the covers. You lie on your back, unsure of what to do, and Sarah turns so she’s laying on her side, facing you on the bed. She places her hand on your stomach softly, and you shiver, remembering the sensations her fingers and palm were creating just a couple hours ago.

You turn your head and find Sarah watching you, eyes warm and welcoming. You bite your lip softly. “I, um... read your letter.”

She smiles at you. “Yeah, I would assume so,” she says with a playful tone. It looks like she’s waiting for you to keep talking, but when you don’t, she takes the lead. “So... Do you want to talk about... well, this?”

You hum in approval, and your skin tingles as Sarah’s thumb strokes tiny circles on your stomach through your tank top. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” you tell her, turning so you’re facing her a bit better. “What do you want to know?”

Sarah smiles at you, resting her hand on your waist. “How long?”

A light laugh escapes you, because you’ve tried to answer that question yourself probably a thousand times. “I don’t know, honestly. A few months, at least.”

“Ames, if I knew you liked women, I would’ve made my move on you a long time ago instead of trying to set you up with guys.”

You roll your eyes -- Sarah had tried so hard to pair you off. “To my credit, I didn’t know I liked women either. Not for a long time.” Her hand squeezes your hip supportively. You clear your throat softly, looking up at Sarah again. “So... When did things start for you?”

“Oh, probably around the time you held an iron to my face,” she answers without hesitation. “I’m a sucker for that kind of thing.”

You laugh in response, but a wave of butterflies rises up from the pit of your stomach. Sarah had been interested in you this whole time? “I had no idea, Sarah,” you tell her, feeling relieved that you can speak openly about the things you’ve kept secret for so long. 

“I guess today’s full of surprises.” She smiles and takes your hand in hers, squeezing your fingers. “So... Where do we go from here? This whole thing could get complicated, y’know? Just, with us working together, and being friends and all...” 

You look at her, and the side of your mouth pulls into a coy grin. “That talk can wait,” you say, feeling braver than you have in awhile, and you push your lips against hers. She reaches one hand up to cup the back of your neck, and you climb on top of her, deepening the kiss. Your mouth opens, letting her in, and your tongues brush against each other as the pace increases. It’s electric and it’s dizzying, but it’s not nearly as chaotic as your first liplock, and you revel in the feeling of just being able to kiss her.

One of your legs slips between hers, so you’re pressed down around her thigh, and her hands move to your waist, fingertips playing beneath your shirt. Her touch feels so good against your skin and you can’t suppress the moan that escapes from you. You kiss her harder, one hand buried in her messy hair and the other clutching her shoulder. You’ve wanted to grab her and kiss for her so damn long, and now that you are, you want to soak up as much of her as you possibly can.

Sarah’s hands start tracing a more heated path underneath your shirt, and little noises are coming out of her, soft and needy. You bite down on her upper lip, loving the way your teeth sink into her skin, and she gasps, arching her back towards you. Her knee is bent now, thigh tilted up between your legs, and you lean your weight down, the pressure driving you crazy.

Your lips are growing more frantic by the second, and her hands are on your hips now. She’s rocking up towards you, her grip guiding your waist as you grind down on her leg, and your pajama pants are feeling uncomfortably tight. 

Her mouth moves to your neck, biting down lightly into your soft skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of her teeth and her thigh overwhelming your senses. “Fuck, Sarah,” you whimper, and though you hardly ever swear, your restraint is slipping away with every second that Sarah is touching you.

She’s sucking the skin on your neck softly -- not hard enough to leave a mark, you both are filming tomorrow -- but it’s driving you crazy, and little colorful fireworks are going off behind your eyelids. Sarah is pulling your hips more roughly against her thigh now, friction building, and her hands are moving from your back to your ribcage to your chest. Her palms brush against your nipples, and Sarah quickly figures out you’re not actually wearing a bra. Her breath hitches -- she thought you were, did she cross a line? -- before moving her hands back down to your ribcage, letting her thumbs trace the underside of your boobs instead.

The unexpected contact of her palm surprises you, and you moan hard into her mouth. You rock down against Sarah a few times, panting heavily against her lips, before slowing your movements and breaking the kiss. You leave your forehead pressed down against hers, and you both try to catch your breath. 

“I think I need to slow down a little,” you tell her, and Sarah nods understandingly, pulling her hands back from under your shirt and letting them rest on the sides of your thighs instead.

“Yeah yeah, of course,” she says, and you can tell she had gotten more carried away than she intended, too. 

Once you’ve caught your breath a little, you lean back. Sarah smirks up at you and combs your hair with her hands, murmuring “bedroom hair”, and you get off her, stretching alongside her on the bed.

You let a long exhale out, feeling more alive than you have in awhile. Sarah’s hand finds yours, and you scoot up against your side, resting your head on her shoulder.

“G’night, Sarah,” you whisper sleepily, pulling the covers up around the two of you. You feel like laughing, not because anything is funny, but because your chest feels lighter and freer than it has in a long time. 

Her cheek is pressed up against the top of your head, and you can feel her face tug into a smile. “Sleep well, Amy.” She plants a gentle kiss on your hairline before letting her head fall back to the pillow.

You get the best sleep of your life that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Posting it unedited, I may go back and improve things in the morning. But I'm mostly just writing this for fun.
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in the story! I was thinking of doing one or two more chapters.

You're the first to wake up in the morning, and for a moment, you forget where you are. Blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you examine your surroundings, temporarily confused about why it looks different -- but then, an arm around your waist tightens, and you feel how warm your back is, a nose pressed firmly against the back of your neck.

Sarah's spooning you, and you're pretty sure there's no better way to wake up.

You right arm is starting to cramp up beneath you, but you stay still, not wanting to interrupt Sarah’s sleep. Instead, you notice the way her breath tickles your back through the collar of your shirt, and the soft sound of her snoring against your skin. You can’t help but think you’re witnessing something incredibly special; the woman is so active, so capable of moving mountains, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her this still before.

The moment is over much too soon, though, as Sarah's phone starts blaring Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" at an ungodly volume.

Sarah jolts with a displeased groan, and she turns over, slamming her hand down on her phone. "Stupid alarm," she mutters, and a hint of a snarl plays on her lips. You can’t help but smile as you sit up in the bed, because grumpy Sarah is rare but exceedingly adorable.

“Morning, sweetie,” you tell her, and she cracks one eye open, like she didn’t realize there was someone else sleeping beside her all night. Her surprised expression quickly turns into a smile, and you lean down to kiss her just because you can. It’s short and soft and sleepy and it makes you smile. 

“Oh, hey,” she says, her former scowl having melted away. You just kind of look at each other for a couple seconds, kind of like awkward teenagers, before you pull away and sit back in the bed. You glance again at her phone and say, “I Kissed a Girl? Really?”

“Hey, it’s got a good beat,” she defends, and you just laugh as you start to get out of bed.

“You can stay, if you want,” she tells you timidly, and you detect a hint of a plead. “I set, like, five alarms, we still got awhile before we’re due on set.”

As tempting as the offer is, you resist it, telling her, “It’s okay, I should really get back to my trailer. Y’know, so people don’t see me leaving yours...”

“Ah,” she nods. “Right.”

You smile apologetically at her. “I’ll see you in a couple hours?”

She grins back at you as you head towards the door. “Yeah. See you then.”

\--

Filming goes... Pretty much the same as it has been going, actually, but with some slight differences. You still find your eyes drifting over towards Sarah almost constantly, but this time, she’s glancing back at you, the hint of a smile cracking through her stony Shaw exterior. Your heart still beats fast when she touches you, but the hint of sadness is gone. And you still are distracted as hell, but you aren’t doing any motorcycle stunts today, so your state of mind does not pose a threat to your physical well-being.

You and Sarah have the same lunch break today, and she brings you a taco from the food truck on the corner. 

It’s not the first time she’s bought you a taco. She knows how obsessed you are with that food truck -- like, embarrassingly obsessed -- and if she manages to get off set a few minutes before you, she’ll pick up two, come find you, and plop down next to you unceremoniously. She’ll hand it over to you and watch as your eyes light up, and say something along the lines of, “Are you sure /you/ shouldn’t be the one playing Shaw?”

This time, though, she approaches you with something akin to shyness. You’re talking with Chris, but you notice her approach; you always notice. She smiles and sits down next to you, seemingly mindful of how close or far away to sit, and places the paper bag between you two.

“I got you a taco,” she says, then rolls her eyes at herself for stating the obvious. 

You smile back at her, and you want to respond with something flirtatious, but you don’t do it because Chris is right there. And also because you really suck at flirting unless your lines are pre-written.

Sarah’s watching you, though, and she smirks, like she knows what just ran through your head. You tell her a quiet “Thank you” before excitedly opening up your taco and turning back to Chris.

\--

That evening, Jim invites everyone out to grab a drink. Michael and Kevin have filming the next day and decline, but Sarah immediately is in, and you accept, too. Paige Turco filmed with you today, and Jim gives her a quick call, inviting her as well.

You get to the bar at 8pm and are pleased to find it’s pretty quiet -- it’s a Tuesday, after all, and most people work normal schedules. The four of you grab a cozy corner booth; you slide in first, and Sarah slides in after you. Jim runs off to grab a round of beers, and you and Sarah turn your attention to Paige. You haven’t seen her in almost a year, so you’re eager to catch up and see what’s new with her.

As you’re talking, you feel Sarah’s hand drift to your thigh. She’s not doing much, just lazily rubbing circles with her fingertips, but her touch scorches through your jeans, and your neck feels hot. Jim comes back a few seconds later, and she pulls her hand away, but you still feel heat where she was touching you.

“You okay?” you hear Paige ask, and you realize you had gotten distracted by Sarah and wasn’t responding to Paige. You catch Sarah smirking out of the corner of your eye, and you chastise yourself -- how is it that you act for a living? -- but you recover quickly.

“Yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you say, taking a long sip from your beer. 

You hope that’s the last of it, but Paige keeps watching you and nods sympathetically. “How have you been? I know the split from James has been hard.” For once, you’re annoyed by how sweet and attentive Paige is.

Jim speaks before you have a chance to. “Oh, Paige, maybe you’re the wingman Amy needs.”

You’re not quite sure where the conversation is headed, but Sarah clearly does, because she mutters “Oh? Is that right?” under her breath.

Paige doesn’t hear Sarah, and asks “Wingman?” in a confused tone.

“Yeah,” Jim replies, “Sarah’s been trying to find a guy for Amy! She hasn’t dated anyone since James, but none of the guys Sarah has found have really stuck, so-”

“Oh, Jim, we don’t really need to do that tonight,” you say with an awkward smile.

“Hey, I’d love to help!” Paige insists, looking thrilled. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s getting my friends laid.”

Sarah ducks into the conversation again, trying to look casual. “Nah, Amy doesn’t seem into it, let’s respect that...”

But Paige is already draining the last of her beer (how did she drink that so fast?) and heading towards the opposite end of the bar.

Jim looks proud of himself, clearly pleased at his own helpfulness, and Sarah is wearing a fake smile that looks like it’ll break her face. Honestly, it’s adorable, and you want to lean over and kiss her. You can’t, though, so you settle for touching her hand softly beneath the table.

Ten minutes later, Paige comes back with a guy in one arm and a tray of shots in the other. 

“Hey Sarah, why don’t you come sit by me?” Paige says with a deliberate facial expression. You glance at her, and she looks like she’s about to kill someone. But, she’s out of options, and she gets up from the booth. You glance over at the guy -- light brown hair, button-down blue shirt, fairly muscular, perfect teeth. Paige slips in beside Jim, arranging the shots on their table.

“Hey, I’m Brad,” he says to Sarah as she gets up, extending his hand. 

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” you hear Sarah reply through her fake smile, and your lips purse together in amusement.

“And... You must be Amy?” Brad says, slipping in beside you with a charming smile.

“Guilty,” you tell him with a handshake and polite smile. Paige pushes shots in your direction, and you notice Sarah toss hers back without so much as a flinch.

Paige keeps Jim and Sarah engaged in conversation so you and Brad can talk alone, and you admit, she is a good wingwoman. She keeps the drinks coming, and though you feel Jim and Sarah both watching you (for different reasons), Paige keeps them out of your way.

Brad is kind of a douche and doesn’t stop talking about his indie band (he’s the guitarist and singer), but to his credit, he’s actually really sweet. He’s from Texas, too, and you have a good time talking sports with him. And even though he’s obsessed with his band, he shows a genuine interest in what you have to say. (You don’t mention you’re an actress -- you never do on these set-ups -- but you talk to him about Texas, music, and other safe topics.)

By the end of the night, everyone at the table is pretty buzzed, but you, as the token lightweight of the group, are probably the most buzzed. Brad asks you if you want to come over. You tell him thanks, but no thanks, and he nods respectfully, saying his goodbyes and leaving with a smile.

“Aww, I thought you guys hit it off. Not your type?” Paige asks apologetically and gets up to hug you goodbye.

“Not my type,” you tell her, returning the hug. You glance over Paige’s shoulder and catch Sarah’s eye, who looks visibly more relaxed, and you smile at her.

“Ah, well. Next time!” Paige says, and you nod, and she heads out.

“I’m not tired!” Jim declares. “I’m gonna go dancing. Do you wanna go dancing?”

“No, you go have fun,” you tell him with a laugh. You’re dizzy and warm from the alcohol, and dancing does sound fun, but kissing Sarah sounds like even more fun.

“Okay. Well! If you change your mind. You know where to find me!” Jim hugs them both and starts heading off.

“Hey, loser, be safe and call if you need anything,” Sarah calls after him. She laughs, shaking her head, and it strikes you just how beautiful she looks.

You can’t help yourself, and you take her cheek in one of your hands, leaning towards her.

Sarah halts your lips an inch away from hers, smiling for a second before backing away a little. “Amy, we’re in public...”

Oh, right. People. You nod conspiratorially. “Forgot. Let’s go to your trailer. Can I kiss you in your trailer?”

“Yes, Amy, you can kiss me in my trailer,” she tells you, smiling at your drunkenness. Her own cheeks are pretty red from the alcohol and the heat of the bar. Luckily, you’re only a few minutes away, and you’re pretty sure you can wait that long to pounce her. “So. How was Brad?” Sarah says, and it’s not lost on your inebriated self just how contemptuously she says his name.

“Hey! You can’t be mad at me about that, you’re the one who started that whole setting-me-up mess,” you remind her. 

“Ugh. I know. But I wanted to flirt with you, not watch some Brad guy flirt with you.”

You giggle, both from the booze and from the hilarity of the situation. You still haven’t quite processed that Sarah is interested in you for real, and hearing her be possessive of you is hot.

Really hot, actually. Hot enough that she barely has a chance to unlock her trailer door before you’re pushing her through it and onto the bed.

“Direct, are we?” Sarah teases as her back hits the mattress, but suddenly you’re straddling her, breathing heavily from your drunken state and how badly you want her. After a rough mess of kisses and a little wrestling, she flips you on her back, her hair spilling over her shoulders and tickling your neck.

Your fine motor skills are a little impaired, and your kisses are sloppier than they generally are, but Sarah feels good, so damn good on top of you. Her mouth is warm and tastes of whiskey, and the way she’s stroking your jawline with her thumbs is driving you mad. She bites your lower lip, pulling and dragging it with her teeth, and you cry out, all sensations amplified by your intoxicated state. 

You were apprehensive yesterday, but right now, you want nothing more than for Sarah to rip your clothes off and take you, hard.

Sitting up as best you can, you wrestle Sarah’s shirt off before taking off your own. Sarah pushes you back against the bed, leaning down to suck your earlobe, your neck, your clavicle, the top of your breast. Her breath is hot and wet on your skin, and you arch up into her, relishing the feeling of her mouth on you. It’s so damn hot in this room, your skin is on fire, and your clothing is itching to be ripped off. Without breaking the kiss, you reach down to her jeans, fiddling with the zipper and pulling the fabric down roughly.

“Fuck, Amy,” she moans into your mouth, breath hot with desire, and her hands are on your pants. She deftly flicks open the button and pulls down your zipper, her hand tracing the waistband of your underwear. 

You’re openly panting now, giving up any attempt to hide how frenzied you feel, and you tangle your hands in her hair, pulling her even closer to you. Her lips are so soft and warm and smooth, you’ve never kissed someone like this, you want to feel her on you, around you, inside of you...

“Sarah,” you whimper, hips bucking against her hand, but Sarah’s arm stills. You’re frustrated -- she’s so, so close to where you need her...

“I don’t think we should do this,” Sarah confesses, looking crestfallen.

Your face falls, and you relax against the bed as she pulls her hand out of your pants. You’re still really inebriated and now you’re kind of sad, too. “So... You don’t want this anymore? Like... Me?” you ask quietly, not sober enough to find better words to express yourself.

“No. No!” she protests, shifting her bodyweight a little. “I just mean, we shouldn’t have sex when you’re drunk. I can’t... Y’know, take advantage of you like that.”

You nod. Even though Sarah’s probably had more to drink, she handles it a lot better than you do, and she’d never do anything she thought you could regret in the morning. It’s a good call but... you’re drunk and you’re horny and it sucks.

She sees how bummed you are and tries to cheer you up. “Hey,” she says, leaning down to kiss your cheek, “Neither of us have to go to work tomorrow. Let me take you out to brunch.”

You smile and pull Sarah back down so she’s lying on top of you. “Mm, are you asking me out on a date, Sarah?”

She kisses you, soft and slow, before whispering against your lips, “Maybe.”

You kiss her for a few minutes longer, calming the fire of desire as best you can, before letting her get up and get ready for bed. You stay curled up in her sheets, soaking in her scent and watching her flit around the room.

Sarah’s sweet and pretty and cuter than that Brad guy was and you don’t know how you got lucky enough to get to pass out in her bed drunk and kiss her face and eat brunch with her, but you’re happy it’s happening.


End file.
